


where we call home

by mikkal



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: (This is Kingdom Hearts after all), Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eldritch, Epic, Fluff and Humor, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, It gets better before it gets worse, Manipulation, Mind Control, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Self-Sacrifice, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Yen Sid is a great man but not a good one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28917318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkal/pseuds/mikkal
Summary: Time to save the worlds one more time!Sora, Kairi, and Riku didn't think they were done, not by a long shot. But theydidthink they'd get a little longer than two months to recover from two years of adventure. Guess not. Summoned by Mickey for a festival before another whirlwind adventure, things quickly come crashing down on them when a new enemy appears.Everything isn't as it seems.For once it's the three of them traversing the worlds to stop Xehanort's final plan, encountering old enemies and new friends, and uncovering long lost heroes and age-old secrets that shake the foundations under their feet.(Post KH2, not canon for Union Cross/Dark Road,definitelynot canon for KH3 or DDD.)
Relationships: Kairi/Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	where we call home

| _And thus,_ |

Once upon a time, Kairi had a dream. The same old dream she’s always had, since Destiny Islands became her home. It is-was-is about the three of them, full of smiles and laughter, the sky infinite above them, their hearts hale and whole, and they’re _happy_. So damn happy. Even now, after everything, she refuses to turn away from it.

Even now, with her ears ringing and her eyes burning, blood dripping from her ears as the aftermath of the explosion aimed at no one and nowhere thunders into a whisper. The dream holds steady, a little fragile, perhaps a bit cracked as dreams are wont to do with heartache after heartache pressing against fault lines. They’re fine lines, thankfully, barely noticeable, but still, she can’t help but faintly liken it to her heart, here at the bottom of an ancient crater.

Her heart hurts, her head aches, body bruised beyond comprehension, staring blankly at the rust-brown-red-copper storm creeping in to smother them all where they stand.

Here, still, with her keyblade limp in hand, the sharp points of rock and dirt and magic-made glass against her back, that she feels the thrum of sad, ageless magic that seems far too familiar, a song sang to her when he was a babe—and then, far more faintly and far, _far_ more familiar, she feels a whispered _‘msorry’msorry’msorry_ brush against her cheek. And that, she knows, is not the world speaking to her. Something like sorry, like guilt, like a hundred little emotions lodges in her throat, tears pushing to fall.

No, this world is long too gone to speak anything like that, to speak with coherent, formed words spoken without melody. Not anymore. Not ever again perhaps. This world is _falling_.

Before, amidst revelations and turmoil, it hadn’t been noticeable. But now. Now it’s a song being screamed in her head, something wordless begging, pleading, aching for someone to realize what’s happening, how badly this world’s heart has been broken.

But it’s not just that. Any world can fall, really. Many worlds _have_ fallen, with no hope for saving. This one, though—it’s fractured. Decayed. Actively, _slowly_ dying. And it has been, for an awfully long time. Long before any of them were even a thought in the universe, she’s sure.

This is not the dignified finale it deserves. It’s not dramatic or awe inspiring like the collapse of some far-off star that lived a long life. Oh no. It’s a slow death. One of agony and despair. Forgotten by everyone until it was nothing, _is nothing_. The strings that held this place together for as long as it did are nothing to the pitiless darkness of hearts and the loneliness of broken memories.

As the sky turns dark and the storm howls, Kairi lets herself cry for the hurt that’s not hers.

Then lets herself cry harder when the words ( _‘msorry’msorry’msorry)_ break and shatter in a fading sob, falling silent and leaving behind a silence that’s so much worse.

The thunder of breaking rock, the crescendo of continuous destruction, is background music to Kairi as she chokes on dirt and dust, on heavy sobs and blood bubbling in the back of her throat. She rolls over on her hands and knees to spit out a glob of metallic-tasting red, drags a gloved hand over her chin and just streaks blood across her skin like a macabre painting. Her hands shake.

Her whole body trembles. A bone-deep exhaustion she’s never felt before takes hold and drags her downdown _down_. She wonders, faintly, if this is what magical exhaustion feels like.

| _darkness prevails,_ |

Has she finally hit rock bottom of her seemingly never-ending well of magic?

Kairi shoves herself up, using Destiny’s Embrace as a crutch, and stumbles in what she thinks is the right direction. Her vision wavers and she sways, like a boat adrift at sea. It hurts to breathe, like her chest’s been caved in. She dreads to see the state of it. Instead, she focuses on—on her friends. They were scattered like dandelions in that blast, gone to every corner of the world. But, but she has only one person on her mind…

“Riku!” she tries to shout. Her voice cracks and breaks and gets lost in the swirling, growing dust storm. Thunder, actual thunder—not magic, not the boomcrash of rock—rumbles ominously in the distance. She coughs to clear the grit from her throat and warmth trickles down her chin. When she licks her lips, she grimaces at the taste of blood.

She hits the end of the bottom of the crater and now the only way is up. Before her looms the sloping, cragged, impossibly tall wall of one of many craters caused by some ancient war—the keyblade war, right? Or did this particular one come from that day Terra, Aqua, and Ventus had their story stalled on a tragic chapter of a sad tale?

Kairi slaps her hands against the wall, shouting between her teeth in frustration at yet _another_ thing in her way. Of course. _Of course_. Obstacle after obstacle.

“Riku!” she shouts to the sky.

He doesn’t come swooping in like he’s prone to do, like some superhero right off the pages. Kairi scowls at her beat-up hands and arms, they’re already covered in purple and black splotches, a long gash traces from the knob of her left wrist around to the inside of her elbow. It steadily weeps blood, but she’s too scared to try for a Cure.

But then again…she won’t get anywhere like this.

She digs around for a hi-potion, nearly sobbing when all she finds is a regular potion. She smashes it against her chest anyway, letting the healing magic take effect. It barely makes a dent in her injuries, but as she curls her hands into fists, testing-testing-testing, she decides it’s good enough (never mind it, you know, still _hurts_. hurts enough to make her cry. hurts enough to make her shake.)

(hurts enough. hurts enough. _it doesn’t matter_.)

Kairi begins to climb.

She climbs and climbs. Muscles straining. Sweat dripping into her eyes. It’s not a steep cliff, not compared to the paopu tree island back home, but with her slick hands and exhaustion it could be the sheerest, tallest mountain in the universe. Her fingers slip on the next hold and she dangles with an echoing yelp, eyes squeezed shut as the ground moves down away from her _far_

_far_

_far_ below and makes the hundred feet seem like thousands.

But she holds on. She keeps going. Next hand hold. Then the next. And next. And next.

Higher and higher until the edge of relief is _almost there._

Even as the sky swirls and darkens, casting everything in a twilight sort of darkness. Even as the world falls deathly silent except for the howl of wind and the shrieks of heartless and the high-pitched whistling of broken keyblades. Even then, she knows she has to keep moving.

She can’t leave Riku behind.

Kairi finds flat surface and she heaves herself up, over the edge, gasping around the pain and effort. She presses her forehead against the ground, caking her sweat coated skin in dirt. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. She just summons Destiny’s Embrace again and gets to her feet.

That’s how this works. She gets knocked down; she’s always going to get back up. She won’t be a burden. She won’t be the one on the sidelines. She’ll plant two feet on the ground and make it shake.

Now, she walks.

She fights against the gales, eyes narrowed as she struggles to see through the dust storm, her face stinging as sand pelts it. She wipes her sticky tears away, smears the blood and dirt on her face almost defiantly. Continues to move, move, move forward. One foot after the other, grip tight around her keyblade for any heartless or nobodies or unversed that think they can take her.

Surrounded by nothing and everything, she’s going. To. Keep. Walking.

“Riku,” she murmurs despairingly when she realizes for every step she takes, there’s nothing to show for it. Is she going in the wrong direction? At this point she doesn’t know which way is up. Doesn’t know if the Gummi ship they arrived in is to her back or her left. All she knows is that she has to find Riku. “Please,” she says louder. “ _Please_ , Riku. Don’t you dare—.”

She trips

| _and light expires_ |

over an abandoned keyblade. Right in her path.

Her knees crack on the ground, her palms scrape raw when she tries to catch herself. The force rattles through her bones to her teeth, leaving her breathless.

Kairi doesn’t even notice.

She’s stunned, on her hands and knees, fixated on that keyblade. That stupid keyblade. She _knows_ this keyblade. It’s not broken. It’s not rusted like the other hundred—no, thousand—no, _hundred thousand_ keyblades left in this world.

No, she knows this keyblade like she knows the back of her hand. Like she knows its owner— _better_ than the back of her hand—from the wide blade to the dark guard and handle. The familiar three circle charm is tarnished, one of the links threatens to pull apart.

Kairi takes it with a shaking hand, heart in her throat. She spots him through a break in the storm, only a few feet away. Still and silent where he lays, face turned away in something like a tragic painting or a mournful photo. It’s all wrong.

Both keyblades screech on the hard-packed earth as she scrambles towards him, his name ripping from her lips in a desperate plea.

“ _Riku_!”

She drops their weapons with little regard, all her focus on him, and shakes him roughly, tears tracking clear lines down her dirty cheeks. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even seem to be _breathing_. Blood coats the side of his face, stark red against the pale moon of his face, clumping the hair at his temple.

His expression is

slack. Serene.

“No, please. Not you too. _You can’t leave me_.”

He doesn’t respond.

Something else does,

| _this_ |

a shriek of metal that breaks through the din. She jerks to attention as a figure comes through the storm like a wraith—black clad, his coat torn and ragged from the few battles before they came to this world, clothes smoldering as if he just survived a Fira. The tip of his keyblade drags behind him, the grip dangling carelessly from the curve of his fingers.

Kairi wraps her arms protectively around Riku’s head. “Don’t,” she croaks out. There’s almost an edge of warning to it. But only almost. She’s just so _tired_. “You…have everything you need. What more could you want? Don’t—Don’t come any closer.”

He stops and stares at her for too long, head cocked to the side in a mixture of disinterest and confusion. Blood streaks down the side of his face, his bottom lip is split. There’s…a flicker of _something_ , in his eyes, before they’re blank again.

Something escapes his lips, soundless words that only come out as short breathes. She wants to believe he’s trying to say her name and she shudders with a fresh sob at how _broken_ , how wrong everything is.

He raises the keyblade high above his head, the blade glinting in the dull light, and he

(a sob in the wind, _‘msorry’msorry’msorry_ )

smiles something unnatural, something wicked. Something cracked like a porcelain doll.

Sora swings down.

| _is the e n d_. |

—

 _it's okay_. we still have time.

—

A bottle washes up on shore.

Barely two months home, almost ( _almost_ ) settled into something normal for what can be normal anymore, and a _freaking bottle washes up on shore_.

It was inevitable. It was foretold. It is…saddening how _not_ surprised they are.

Riku finds it after school, buried in the sand on the east side of Play Island that the other kids abandoned to the Trio long ago—it’s where they build their raft, where they raced for the light-up star that stopped working when they were babies, where they lived in their own little worlds separate from the other kids that lived on this end of the archipelago. Where they dreamed their dreams and talked of fairy tales as if they were real.

(The _I told you so_ just wasn’t worth it.)

Vintage green and crusted with ocean-crud, sealed up nice and tight, a parchment neatly rolled inside, it looks like lost pirate treasure and, in the moment before he picked it up, Riku worried it came too late. That whatever magic helping it from world to world missed them past some perceived deadline. But then there’s a spark jumping from bottle to fingertips, and he’s no longer worried.

Instead, he’s pensive as he tosses the bottle from hand to hand, staring in the distance at the black line of the horizon. The sun sinks slowly, painting the sky pastel pinks and periwinkle blues and abyssal purples. Sand shifts between his toes, the water southern warm as it pushes and pulls and pulls and _pulls_ him deeper until he’s sinking, listing, and not even noticing because that little twist to his expression—the furrowed brows, the downturned mouth, and faint crinkles at the corners of his eyes—means he’s _thinking_ , as he’s prone to do nowadays.

Which, not thinking got him into too many messes, and they’re a bit worried that thinking too much will get him into even more.

Eventually, when the horizon starts tilting left, he blinks back into the present and scrubs his face. He squelches himself free with noises absolutely _no one_ wants to hear and lucky for them, they’re not here for it. Unluckily, Kairi _is_ there to bear sole (audible) witness to the atrocity. She makes a disgusted grunt and he almost ignores her because he can, but he doesn’t. Already grinning, he turns to her, and the sight that greets him just makes him smile wider.

As ever, she’s a remarkable sight. Wooden sword (Selphie’s if the electric taped cross guard means anything, the bright pink tape usually for her color guard flags) driven point first into the sand, she’s pulled herself into a handstand, precarious on the ever-shifting sand.

(Wooden sword, not keyblade, because even though the other kids know this side of the island belongs to the Trio even now after everything, they can never be sure someone won’t show up expectantly. Doesn’t stop Sora from attempting to make glass with a little bit of Thunder though. The sand around one of the trees of paopu island is completely un-tread-able because of the amount of glass stones he’s made. Doesn’t stop the magic that sparks whenever they spare. Doesn’t stop Kairi from absently creating a breeze.)

Her hair, usually loose to her shoulder blades and somehow shorter than his, is pulled up into a messy bun, annoying locks falling into her eyes. She tries to brush them away with a flutter of eyelashes, then with an unadvised swipe against her shoulder, only for them to fall in the way again. Her cheeks grow pink, her arms start to shake. Riku takes it upon himself to start chanting some cheer picked up the one time they actively participated in a school activity (post-adventure. Pre-adventure he was too cool for that sort of thing), starting almost under his breath then getting obnoxious about it.

Kairi holds the position just to impress him. Holds it. _Hooolllddsss_ —Okay, yeah, total fail in the end. She falls out of it first in an undignified downward collapse, then manages to end with a surprisingly graceful tuck and roll.

Of course, being on a beach, means she comes up sputtering, scraping sand off her sweaty face and arms, slapping it off her shorts and cropped top. All the while hissing, “bad idea, _bad idea_ , _shit_.” Riku makes no effort whatsoever to hide his laugh. She glares at him playfully and grabs her sword, brandishing it in an over-flourished _en garde_.

“You laugh, you fight. Come at me, pretty boy.”

“Tap out,” Riku says around a laugh, heart lifting higher and higher. Affection bounces around the three of them so freely now, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get use to it. He dangles the neck of the bottle in the crook of his fingers, swaying back as she jabs towards him playfully.

“You can’t tap out if you’re not in!”

He rolls his eyes. “Please, I’d have you over my shoulder in a _second_.”

Kairi lunges, sword swinging. “Them fightin’ words!” He rolls with the motion, only dodging because she’s not trying and if it weren’t for the laziness of both their motions, he’d be supporting a bruise. Always, always, he forgets how fast she can move. Not a speedster like Sora, not a heavy hitter like himself, but a combination of the two that is devastating.

Riku tosses the bottle to her as a distraction. She catches it, just barely, sword clutched in her arms as the bottle bounces grip to grip. With her wide-eyed attention elsewhere, he swoops in and throws her into his arms, jostling her until she screeches.

“Cheater!”

“Pragmatic,” he corrects.

She kicks out once, toes skimming the side of his head, sending hair aflutter, but then she goes limp, head falling back until she’s staring at the horizon upside down, bottle clutched to her chest. It’s not a surprise, she knew he had it. Sora probably already feels something’s coming. She doesn’t flail when Riku dips her, barely bothers putting her feet out when he props her back up.

Riku doesn’t look angry anymore, she realized a long time ago. He looks a little lost and a little sad. But that green-sick envy and void-deep loathing, things that started so small, so _childish_ , coaxed into a roaring fire that burned and spread and pulled him downdowndown. He’s still so sure of himself, as he was when they were kid-kids, when Kairi had just fallen from the stars and the world was bigger than it seemed, but he hesitates now. He hesitates and _doubts_.

Kairi swallows thickly and presses the bottle to his chest. He takes it with steady hands, questions in his eyes. Instead of answering, she sits on the wet sand where the surf push and pulls with the threat of high tide coming their way. Neither are dressed for swimming. Riku sits next to her anyway, sighing.

Elbows on the sword propped across her lap, she continues to watch him. His profile against the backdrop of dusk paints a striking picture. Cheeks slimmed and mature, missing the roundness of childhood, his jawline is defined and ticking as he clenches his teeth in thought, something tight drawing his shoulders up, but even then, almost-satisfied-almost-content lingers around him, waiting to be draped across them. To her, he’s always been pretty—handsome, when she doesn’t feel like making blush red—but there’s just _more_ now, as he stares out again towards the horizon, more to him that makes her heart beat hummingbird fast.

“It’s from King Mickey.” She breaks the silence, and he flinches for it.

Kairi shoulder checks him, just barely, but he goes crashing down anyway into the surf, a sort of blank look creeping into his eyes. He stares at the sky on his back, bottle cradled protectively, and seawater crawling up his shoulders, sliding into his hair. The sand is gritty, uncomfortable. Kairi’s fingers sooth it away as she threads her fingers through his hair, braiding the long strands idly. It blankets him in calm, in safety.

He decides, well, this ain’t so bad.

“It’s from King Mickey,” she says again with a tug of a finished braid. (and _king_ because Riku can call him just Mickey, but Sora and Kairi? That’s just too much for them). “Which means we’re leaving again.”

Silence again. The paopu island they can barely see at this angle calls her attention, just she can look anywhere but him and the horizon. The curve of its cliff that drops into too deep water, cragged rocks rising from the depths. They’ve always had to use the shack as a shortcut to get back to the west part of the island, the water too dangerous and choppy to navigate near the rock and, for the longest time, they were too little for their stamina to take them all the way around. She wonders if that’s different now.

She takes a deep breath. “I never assumed we were going to stay on Destiny forever, you know? Not after we experienced what’s out there. Not after everything we learned. Everything we’ve gone through…Did…did you?” she asks tentatively.

Riku doesn’t answer for a long moment. He watches the early stars twinkle into sight (wonder which star is what world) and tries to calm the turmoil in his gut. Once upon time, all he wanted to do was leave Destiny Islands, then it was all he wanted to leave their _world_.

He wants to tell her _yes, of course._ They were done. Home. All three of them, safe and sound despite everything. And that’s all he ever wanted: his friends, their safety. It took a long time to realize that. And because of that, because of and despite all the darkness and pain, the hardships and changes they were forced through. Because-despite the decisions he made (“ _you’re stupid!_ ” that should’ve torn them apart forever, and that—that would’ve been his fault, there’s no denying that (“ _you never came home, so I came looking for you_.”).

Wants to but can’t. He can’t say it because in the end, the truth is this:

“No. I never did.”

He can’t find it in himself to regret anything they’ve done. Each and every step taken, no matter how stupid or brave or misguided or powerful, led to this moment. Why regret?

Not now. Maybe not ever. While he’d been in the Realm of Darkness, wishing on a star for sun and sand and ocean, for the world he so desperately wanted to leave behind, abandon, wishing for _home_ , that the moment he stepped back into the light even though he wasn’t back on Destiny Islands he realized something indisputably important.

 _Home_ was not Destiny Islands.

 _Home_ was Sora, with his wild laugher and soft touches

 _Home_ was Kairi, with her hidden mischief and kind eyes.

Sora and Kairi at his side through any and every world. Even if he genuinely wanted to stay on Destiny Islands, grow old in their small village or move mainland, he would never, if Sora and Kairi wanted to leave.

“It’s sooner,” he admits, words croaking slightly, “than I thought. What if Sora doesn’t want to go?”

Kairi laughs. Actually _laughs_. At him. The traitor. She instantly soothes the sting of hurt by pressing her thumb to the middle of his forehead. She ducks over his face and smiles when he crosses his eyes to keep her in sight. Her hair falls completely out of its bun, curtaining them into their own little world.

“Sora will go wherever we go,” she murmurs assuredly.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he says in a small, trembling voice. And it’s true. Oh, her heart breaks at how true that is.

It’s only because he _remembers_ , when they were kids, that Riku’s declaration of wanting to leave came first, then Kairi’s, then Sora’s last. (Where they go, he follows. He traverses through unknown worlds, leaps into the darkest pits, risks his heart and his life for his friends.

 _Loses_ his heart. His life. For his friends.)

And he doesn’t want it to happen again. Doesn’t want to drag either of them into a life they don’t want, not when he’s done it already.

She’s quiet as she unravels his braids by shoving her hand through his hair, scritching his scalp. He watches her think through the sound of crashing waves and the cry of seabirds.

“He’ll want to go,” she says in no more than a whisper. “And where he goes, we’ll go. We’ll be there for him.” She splays her palm over his face, causing him to peek at her through her fingers. Her gaze is serious, firm. “I’m not letting you leave me behind again.”

Well, no argument there.

—

Sora finds them like that, of course. Curled around each other, too deep into the tide to indicate anything but lost time, the sun a smear of oranges and reds behind them. Something inexplicitly warm settles in his chest at the sight of them and, despite the cold seeping into his bones from sea-soaked school clothes and the night-breeze, he stops to stare a little. To imprint the image in his mind’s eye, another one for the road, he thinks, because even he can feel something in the air. A similar ort of something that led to them leaving the islands the first time around—not quite the same, given the givens, but close enough.

There are a million and one things to do—school, work, home, _life_ —but it all pales in comparison to right here and right now. A single moment stretching out to infinity. A pane of color in the stained-glass mosaic that his like has become. He feels bad for being late, briefly wonders if they thought about leaving, only to dismiss the thought. 

Sora laughs a little when he reaches the edge of the surf, sea-foam cresting over his shoes. There’s an almost perfect cut in the waves as they part around Kairi and Riku, guided unknowingly to pass them by and not drown them in the high tide that should’ve gotten them long ago. Even without a keyblade, her magic surges around her, so bright and fathomless like the ocean itself—the sun filtering through the surface until it goes deepdeepdeep into something infinite and mysterious. If he were younger, he’d be jealous of how easily magic answers her call when all he can do it practice and practice. Ah, well, he’s learned his lesson on that sort of thing.

It would be a shame, though, if _something_ were to ruin such absentminded concentration.

The basket full of snacks and drinks gets set safely to the side and, for one snapshot moment, he hesitates. Then, doubt cleared, he takes a running leap towards the highest swell closest to his friends, a war cry on his lips and still dressed in the pale blues and whites of his school uniform.

Kairi screeches, lurching up and dumping Riku into the tide. He comes up sputtering clawing his way out of the worst of it, blinking in confusion at the height of the water line. When did it…?

“Sora!” she shouts when Sora comes up for air. He merely laughs brightly, borderline innocently, then yelps when she shoves him back underwater. She only lets him up when he taps out on her arm, smirking as he whines his way back to the sand. “You deserve it! Scaring us like that.”

He grimaces, following Riku to his basket forlornly. Most of it’s an act. The real problem is the uncomfortable cling of his pants to skin, his shirt practically see-through if not for the undershirt. He’d been in such a hurry to get to Play Island before full dark he didn’t think to change beforehand. Even though past experiences indicate he should’ve given it more thought, nice clothes aren’t known to last on Play Island.

Kairi digs through her duffle bag further up on shore, muttering insults under her breath as Sora laughs. “You don’t get to laugh.”

Sora pouts. “Riku’s laughing,” he whines, gesturing rudely at him. Riku laughs harder. Sora slings his sodden tie at him. It just slaps wetly (read: pathetically) against his chest.

“ _He_ gets to laugh,” Kairi declares as she pulls out a wrinkled pair of red swim shorts. They’re Sora’s. “Change before I dump you back in the water. I’m not your keeper.”

“How did you—?” Sora takes the shorts with a shrug. “I know you’re not my keeper, Kai,” he mumbles around the shorts now clenched between his teeth as he unbuckles his belt and drops his pants with literally no consideration for his surroundings. Kairi and Riku don’t even think to look away. “You’re better than that.” He grins. “I was wondering where these were.”

“My house,” Riku answers. He wrings out the tie, bottle tucked into the crook of his arm, and ties it into a sad, drooping bow with more knots than necessary. Only one of them is bad at undoing knots and it ain’t Riku. Or Kairi. “You need to keep better track of your stuff.”

Sora doesn’t lose his grin as he changes. Soon he’s left in dark red swim trunks and a grey tank top, it’s all mildly reminiscent of his favorite outfit when they were kids.

“You’re not wrong about that,” he says brightly. He steals Kairi’s towel and bundles his clothes with it. “I brought food, by the way. Courtesy of mom and Auntie Bala.” He picks the basket up and shoves it to Kairi. She takes it with a bow then holds it high above her head like a trophy.

“Wait, Auntie Bala made us food?” Riku perks up, eyes shining. Sora muffles a laugh with a pretend sneeze that’s not fooling anyone. Kairi slaps him away as he tries to dig into the basket for Auntie Bala’s famous chicken—so famous, that only close friends and family are allowed to have it, she doesn’t even put it on the menu of her restaurant.

Of course, close friends and family means everyone in their little town. Any tourists or mainlanders who somehow hear about the hole-in-the-wall that is their local favorite generally get turned away and _never_ get the secret recipes, even to just try.

Kairi doesn’t want to picnic on the beach, totally understandable, so they gather the important things and climb the zipline tower with practiced ease. The actual line broke some time during Sora’s long sleep, and no one’s bothered replacing it yet since so few people use it.

Sora spreads out the blanket, plucking absently at the worn stitching. Despite the basket of food and the blanket his mom liked to reserve for family picnics, she almost tried to keep him from coming. And, with her eyes wide and wet, expression so worried and _sad_ , he almost let her keep him.

It breaks his heart, being unable to tell her anything. To effectively lie to her. It’s been whittling away, piece by slow piece, at their once close relation. Gone, is the mom who was more than happy to set her son loose on Play Island, who was perfectly willing to let him be free-range and beach-wild and ocean-raised, knowing full well he’d be coming home without doubt.

This was before. Before the storm that took him away. Before she spent nearly a year dazed and in a haze of _knowing_ she was forgetting something yet unable to grasp exactly what was missing, like trying to catch smoke with her fingers on a windy day. Just out of reach and nearly as frustrating.

Then, like a struck match, she remembered. Her son came home, to her like always. But different. Older. Tired. Scarred.

( _scared_ )

So caught up in his thoughts, Sora doesn’t notice the heat on his fingertips, the increasing pace in which he smooths out the blanket over worn floorboards. Something shutters in his expression as he spirals, his hands trembling. Riku covers his hands with his own, and the weight of it startles him. He looks up into the moss green eyes of his friend, a mass of something dark and gooey rolling up to his throat as moss green turns barely-remembered artificial Replica blue (“ _Can’t take a hint, can you? Leave—_ “), turns

the glinting gold of Ansem-not-Ansem, turns

the hard-emerald green at his angriest, most loathing, most not-Riku yet still somehow Riku.

(Not real. It hadn’t been real. It’d been a _caricature_ of his best friend. The little negative bits that make up people amplified, amplified, _amplified_ until the positive bits barely remained.

Still, his breathing hitches.)

Carefully, Riku places a vintage green bottle between them, never breaking eye contact despite the slowly building tension. The soft thunk makes Sora flinch, but it knocks him free. He takes a deep, shuddering, wet-sounding breath, shoulders bowing ( _moss green. moss green_ ). He doesn’t cry, and he’s thankful for that. When he blinks and looks back up, the faraway look in his eyes is gone, replaced by curiosity.

“Don’t,” Kairi says, preemptively cutting off any apology. Lips turn pouty in response, but she ignores it in favor of flicking the bottle, purple-painted nails sounding hollow against the glass. “It’s from King Mickey,” she tells him when Riku makes no move to speak. He can’t, not without his voice breaking and cracking right down the middle, thrown by this tunneled moment of seeing Sora struggle like that. Like a veil had been lifted after two months of being shrouded. “We wanted to wait for you before we read it.”

Ashamed pinked turns towards flattered and bashful. Of course, practically stripping in front of them means nothing, but being told they waited does.

With little work, he pops the cork and thumps out the heavy parchment. He glances at them from beneath his lashes, like he’s waiting for them to stop him. When they don’t, he unfurls the letter. Once, twice, beating back the stubbornness etched into its edges after being curled up for so long.

“It’s an invitation,” he announces, surprised. He hands Kairi the more stubborn postcard. It proclaims a ‘Festival of Light’ in bright letters, an elaborate castle a backdrop. Riku hooks his chin over her shoulder, reaching for the postcard with squinted interest. They miss Sora, then, carefully pocketing a folded card so small it barely has any curl to it, so focused they are on the brightly colored invitation. “And a letter.”

“Read it out loud.” The postcard crinkles in Riku’s grip. Kairi rolls her eyes and plucks it back into her possession.

Sora grimaces, he’d always hated reading out loud during class. All those people, that expectation. But, for these two—.

He takes a breath.

“’ _I hope this finds you well. I was hoping to give you more time before all of this, but it’s time you knew. I wanted to tell you right away, about the memories that sleep within all of you, and about the pieces that tie you to your future. Sora…_ ,”

It’s here he falters, brows furrowing, and bites the inside of his cheek, reading over the same line twice.

“ _’Sora, Riku, Kairi, the truth behind the keyblade has found its way through so many people, and now I know that it rests in your heads._

_“’It’s possible that all your journeys so far have been preparing you for this great new task that’s waiting for you. I should have known there were no coincidences—only links in a much larger chain of events. And now the door to your next journey is ready to be opened…’”_

With deliberate care, he rolls the letter back up and stuffs it into the bottle, expression tense. Sora turns away from his friends to the horizon. The sky is dark as midnight despite being a few hours off. If he thought about it, he could probably point out which of the brighter stars is which world, knowing, still that there are countless worlds out there he’ll probably never learn.

His knuckles turn white before he relaxes his grip, letting out a sharp sigh. “After the festival he wants us to train with Yen Sid,” Sora tells the twilight, something dull and off-putting in his tone. The letter didn’t say that, but it’s not hard to figure out. “I thought there’d be more time,” he admits. “I only just got you both back.”

There’s a very telling, ringing silence only broken by wind and crashing waves. Kairi clings to a bag of celery, feeling ridiculous to be anchored by a cheap plastic bag with her favorite vegetable and her name in familiar handwriting on the outside. Sora’s mom always adds a flower after her name.

“You’re not going to lose us again,” Kairi says firmly. Her eyes, always something out of a dream with the blue iris but then the strange stain of purple against each pupil, are sharp as steel. Riku grins. Sora looks back, eyes widening. “I got left behind more times than I care to count.” Simultaneously, Riku and Sora wince. “No one’s going at it alone anymore.”

There’s a pause. A slow, tremulous pause, before Sora’s smiling so brightly Kairi throws her hands and makes a weak joke about going blind.

Riku’s smile is something softer and drags him down with a gentle tug on his wrist. “We go where you go, Sora,” he says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Kairi scoots until her legs are dangling over the edge with them and Sora leans his cheek on Riku’s shoulder, his arm snakes around Kairi’s waist. “ _Together_.”

—

 _Sora, you are who you are because of those people, but they’re hurting and you’re the only one who can end their sadness. They need_ you.

_Please._

…. How could he say no?


End file.
